Gravity
by Ryeloza
Summary: "But the world was gone, and for days and days and days, he did not exist, he did not know.  Because of this, he had no idea just how much that first moment meant."  Tom and Lynette.  Some spoilers for season eight.  Mostly AU now.
1. Introduction

**Disclaimer: **I make absolutely no claim to _Desperate Housewives_. This is not for profit; I'm just playing.

**Story Summary: ** "But the world was gone, and for days and days and days, he did not exist, he did not know. Because of this, he had no idea just how much that first moment meant." Tom and Lynette. Some spoilers for season eight.

**Gravity**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Introduction**

In those first few days, the world was gone, blacked out in some endless, starless night. If he only knew how close he was, not to heaven or hell, not to life or death, but to nothingness forever and ever and ever, the terror would be all-consuming, like realizing for the first time just what the word alone truly meant.

But the world _was_ gone, and for days and days and days, he did not exist, he did not know. Because of this, he had no idea just how much that first moment meant.

It was so simple. Mere seconds in the long and winding road of his life. From nothing to everything in just a matter of seconds, he was suddenly aware. In midst a thick fog (his body was heavy and his head ached and he couldn't move or see or speak or even really think), he knew her. Fruity shampoo and the faintest soap or scented lotion or something he never could identify and everything else that was just _her_—after all these years, he knew her backward and forward, even blinded and barely conscious and scarcely alive.

For a moment, it was comfort and relief and security.

And then once again there was nothing.

* * *

><p><strong>An: **I seem to be quite stuck in Tom's mind lately (probably in some attempt to make sense of where his character appears to be going on the show). This is based on the fact that, more and more, I think they aren't actually going to work out their problems, but instead be brought back together by some tragedy. So I'm putting my own twist on it before (and if) it ever happens.

I really appreciate any feedback you guys take the time to give. Lately, it's more and more motivation to write, so it means more than ever. Many, many, many thanks in advance!

-Ryeloza


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**A/n: **Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I really hope you continue to enjoy this one. As I mentioned before, there are spoilers for season eight (they actually crop up in this chapter), so if you're staying spoiler-free, turn back.

Many, many thanks in advance to anyone who reviews. You guys are amazing!

-Ryeloza

**Gravity**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Chapter One**

_5 Days Earlier_

"No. No. Perkins was supposed to sign those papers two days ago. I should have had them on my desk yesterday. So don't—"

Tom paused, hand poised to open the car door, as Randall began to nervously explain away the mishap. He seemed to have prepared the litany of excuses in advance, almost as if he'd been awaiting this call, and Tom felt his last of his patience begin to unravel. The week had been unending, one long meeting after another, capped off by this incompetence. It meant making a stop at the office now when he should have had three days off to think of nothing but his kids. Penny had been nagging—_asking_—him to take her camping since July, and he'd finally managed to finagle the time off to do so. Never mind that it was already mid-November.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the front door open, and he couldn't quite suppress his groan as Lynette stepped onto the porch, the baby cradled on one hip and one of Penny's bags hanging off of her shoulder. To the untrained eye, she looked unfazed: hair clipped back haphazardly; barefooted even in the chilly autumn air; wearing the same old jeans and t-shirt combo he'd seen her in on a thousand different days. But the truth was that there was nothing casual about the way she was approaching the car; like most of their interactions of late, this one was laced with a passive aggressive loathing. He was supposed to pick up the kids at six, and it was a quarter past now; whether he was ready or not, she wasn't about to give him another minute.

"Look," he snapped into the phone; it seemed imperative not to let her know that he was being held up by work yet again. It would only add fire to her perpetual refrain of _you don't even put the kids first anymore. _"I don't want to hear any excuses. I'll be back at the office in fifteen minutes, and that paperwork better be on my desk."

Randall gave a fluttery response that Tom chose to ignore, ending the call and finally stepping out of the car just as Lynette opened the back door. "Parker's not coming," she said, cutting off the apology he was about to force himself to make. "The twins invited him to some party…" She shrugged as though it was of little concern where their son was spending the weekend when he knew for a fact that she probably had the address memorized and the number already on speed dial.

"Did you tell him how important this weekend is to me?"

"Yes," she said, but he could no longer see her face to tell if she was being truthful or not; she'd leaned into the car to put Paige into her car seat. "But I couldn't exactly force him to go with you."

"Uh-huh." He glanced back at the house, suddenly bogged down with the wish that this was over. Not just dealing with his wife, but this entire weekend. That at this moment he was dropping off his daughters instead of picking them up; that soon he'd be driving away, left only with the gnawing guilt he felt from knowing that he wouldn't see them again for another week, yet not regretting that nearly as much as he should. Wearily, he rubbed his eyes and turned back toward Lynette. For a second, his gaze dropped to her ass—judging by the way the denim clung to her, these jeans weren't the same old ones she always wore—and he had to force himself to raise his eyes to look off toward some distant point in the horizon. "Is Penny almost ready?"

"Yeah." She backed out of the car and cocked her hip against the driver's door, arms crossed over her chest. He could feel her eyes on him, but it was with supreme reluctance that he met her stare. "What?" he asked tiredly.

"She's really looking forward to this, you know."

"Good. So am I."

"Father-daughter weekend. She needs this. She needs some real quality time with you."

He nodded cautiously while she continued to stare right through him. There was some eerie warning in her words, and he had to force himself to believe that she was just trying to hint at the fact that he should leave his cell phone at home.

There was no way she knew that he'd invited Jane. There was no way that she knew that he planned to introduce Penny to her, not even as his sort-of girlfriend, but just as a friend. Just as a way to test the waters and get her used the idea. Because if Lynette knew any of that, they wouldn't be having a slightly veiled conversation now; it would be an out-and-out brawl.

"What are you doing this weekend?" he asked, more to change the subject than out of any genuine desire to know. He'd been steadfastly ignoring her own foray into dating, despite how less-than-subtly Renee had been bringing it up any chance she got (and she made sure to create as many of those chances as she could). Someday soon it was something he'd have to face; for now he was happy to pretend she was living life similarly to a nun.

"Bree's having a dinner party."

"Another one?"

She almost smiled, and against his will, he returned the expression—this mild, half-turned curve of the lip that suggested just a hint of amusement. All at once, he felt closer to her and farther away at the same time, and he had to forcibly remind himself that he'd made up his mind. That ghosts of jokes from a life they once shared were as intimate as they would be, and that there was no point in missing what they'd once had.

No point in missing her.

The slamming of the front door broke the hazy spell between them, and they both turned to see Penny hurrying toward the car with her backpack slung over one shoulder. "Hey Dad," she said as she gave her mother a tight farewell hug. Lynette coddled her for a moment in a way that he wasn't used to seeing—the same way he feared he looked now whenever he said goodbye to the kids. Like the word suddenly had new meaning.

"Be good for your dad." Lynette leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "Help out with your sister."

"I will." Penny grinned and then headed around the car toward the front seat. "Love you, Mom."

"Love you too."

Tom watched as Penny climbed into the car, opening his own door with an awkward shrug and a little sigh. "Well," he said, "I'll see you on Monday."

"Okay."

It was on the tip of his tongue to give her some warning or to apologize or to maybe just sit down and talk out any of the million things between them that they'd been unable to articulate for months now. Instead, he just gave a nod and climbed into the car. Lynette slammed the back door shut as he strapped in, and his last look at her was as she walked back toward the house, steadfastly refusing to watch them drive away.

For a second, he had to remind himself to breathe. As though trapped, his eyes couldn't leave her form, sad and graceful against the twilit sky.

"I told Parker he should come."

Tom blinked, turning to look at his daughter as he lazily turned the key in the ignition. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. So did Mom. They had a big fight about it last night, but Parker wouldn't change his mind."

A hard, hot, tight ball settled in his stomach, making him feel faintly nauseous. He glanced back toward the house again, hoping to catch one last glimpse of Lynette, but she'd already gone inside. Forcibly, he made himself smile, pretending that none of this affected him. It wasn't hard. He'd gotten very good at pretending. "That's okay," he lied, backing out of the driveway and setting off down the street. "We're going to have a great weekend."

"Yeah."

"I just have to make a quick stop at the office. Only five minutes. I just have to sign some papers, and then we'll be on our way."

Penny's features furrowed in an exact replica of her mother's worst skepticism, but she nodded. "Okay."

"Okay."

He slowed to a stop at the end of the street as Penny reached out to turn on the radio. In an instant, she'd tuned from his preset channel to one playing songs he didn't know nor want to recognize, and he didn't hesitate to turn down the volume as soon as she settled back in her seat. "So," he said, preempting whatever protest she was bound to make, "how was school this—"

He never got to finish the sentence. Just as he edged out into the intersection, a truck ran through the opposing stop sign, barreling into the car. Instinctively, his arm shot out toward Penny, but it was his last conscious action. Around him, the lights from the suburban homes whirled in incomprehensible circles, a horn was blaring incessantly, and his head pounded fiercely. Against his will, his eyes drifted shut.

The world disappeared.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **It's still not mine.

**Gravity**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Chapter Two**

"…wake up?"

"…I don't…could be a few hours or…"

His head throbbed as he tried to focus on the speakers. They sounded far away, indistinguishable in timbre, almost as if he was underwater, straining to make out what they said. Just listening, usually so effortless, was tiring, and still that was incomparable to the physical fatigue he felt. His body seemed thick and heavy, as though every muscle hurt, and no matter how much he willed it, his eyes strained under the effort of simply trying to open them. Faintly, it occurred to him that this should have been alarming; mostly, though, he just felt exhausted.

"Nothing to worry about…"

Cool fingers grazed the back of his hand for a second, the tips dancing over his knuckles and then lightly squeezing his fingers. The contact was brief, but startlingly electric, like suddenly sensing his hand where a moment before he would have claimed to be unaware of its existence. Tingling, he tried to catch the fingers before they left his skin, but they were there and gone too fast.

And his hand wouldn't seem to do as he wished.

The voices quieted as footsteps echoed through the room, growing fainter and fainter until he was unsure if he couldn't hear or if they were gone. Left in a strangling silence, he lay still, trying and failing again and again to move his fingertips.

* * *

><p><em>6 Months Earlier<em>

Tom found Lynette standing in the Solises' back yard, staring down at the pool as though she was studying the way the moonlight reflected out of its depths. All night, through every act of this horrific dinner party, he'd been acutely aware of her, even as he purposely kept his eyes averted, his gaze trained on anyone and everyone else. It was a discomforting feeling, an ache like a phantom limb, and from it bloomed an acute fear that every moment with her from now until he died would be the same. That no matter how much he wanted, or even needed, to cut her from his life, part of him would always be missing her. As it was, he'd known the moment she'd disappeared from the party ten minutes ago, but it was only reluctantly that he sought her out now.

He approached quietly, coming up next to her and mirroring her pose: arms crossed over his chest, head tipped forward toward the eerily glowing blue water. Neither of them spared the other a glance, but he could sense her stiffen next to him, could feel himself now horribly on edge just from being this close to her. Anxiously, he cleared his throat.

"Are you ready to go home?"

The words felt foreign as he spoke them, like they didn't belong there in the warm summer air with cicadas humming and lighthearted conversation drifting out the open kitchen door. He was surprised when she laughed softly, a sad chuckle that got caught up in a sigh; he could sense her whole body sag next to him.

"I don't know how everything got so fucked up."

"Neither do I."

She turned and looked up at him, almost pretending to smile, but he could see tear-tracks staining her cheeks. There was something so honest about the moment that every bit of tension suddenly lessened inside of him. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt like he understood her completely.

"Can you lie to me and tell me this is all going to turn out okay?"

Every day people survived despite losing part of themselves. Sometimes, even, _because_ they'd sacrificed that part of them. But no matter how true the sentiment was, it didn't alleviate the hollow, broken feeling inside of him as he listened to the unspoken plea in her voice. It didn't quell the sudden thought that maybe it would be better to suffocate together than to survive apart. But decisions had been made, ones that couldn't easily be undone, and he knew better than to give in to the fear that was dictating these thoughts.

Lynette gave a slight, self-deprecating nod, somehow reading his thoughts on his face, and turned back toward the water. Guiltily, he reached out and cupped the back of her neck with his hand, bending and kissing the top of her head. "You're going to be fine," he said, shutting his eyes and simply breathing her in for a moment. "You always are."

He pulled back as she wiped away fresh tears, still not looking at him. "Yeah," she agreed. The word came out weakly, and in protest, she straightened up, shaking her hair out of her eyes and taking a deep breath. "I'll be fine."

Somehow, the honesty of the moment seemed to disappear with those words, even if he didn't believe it was a lie. The truth was that his wife was a survivor and had been her entire life, and he had no doubt that she would endure this as well. And still, part of him wondered what he would have done if she had told him she couldn't live without him.

It didn't matter. She'd never say it. And it wasn't true.

"Let's go home," he said again, more wearily now. He couldn't put any more energy into pretending everything was fine. Not tonight. Not in the face of this moment, and everything it did and didn't mean.

"You go. I promised I'd stay and help clean up."

He nodded, accepting the dismissal for what it was. Realizing that maybe she didn't want to pretend anymore either. Knowing that this was a goodbye in not so many words.

Without thinking, he dropped his hand toward hers, gripping her fingers tightly for a second, there and gone before she could reciprocate. Then he turned and left her, heading back toward the warm light of the house.


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **This isn't mine, I swear.

**A/n: **Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last two chapters! I'm glad that you're enjoying this, and I really appreciate that you took the time to let me know what you thought. Besides making my day, feedback also helps motivate me to write, so please continue to click on that little button at the bottom of the page.

Many thanks in advance!

-Ryeloza

**Gravity**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Chapter Three**

_Six Weeks Earlier_

He really shouldn't have been surprised.

As he waited for Lynette, foot bouncing up and down so vociferously that at one point it actually knocked into the table, nearly spilling his coffee, he was quite certain that the fact that he was surprised was greatly contributing to his anger. If he had seen this coming, he could have tried to circumvent it; the entire confrontation could have been avoided.

Of course, the cost would have been attempting to have a rational conversation with his wife about this, and that thought was ridiculous enough that he almost laughed. Lynette was never going to look at this rationally. He knew that already. But at least if he had tried to talk to her about it, he could have seethed at her with a perfectly clean conscience. As it was, he was so aware that this wasn't entirely her fault that blaming her made his stomach seize up in knots; guilt had never been his friend.

Across the room, the door swung open, and Tom looked up from the tiled pattern on the table. Lynette walked through the door with Paige cradled on her hip, and gave a little nod as she noticed him. He watched her as she walked to the counter to order a drink. Unfairly, his heart jumped a bit at the sight of her; she was dressed to the nines—she must have had a business meeting earlier—and she still had her reading glasses on. Altogether, it brought back too many memories of their youth: late nights at the office, her nose to the grindstone while he tried not to ogle her too openly.

Memory had been an unkind mistress lately, one that seemed to keep him trapped, torturing him and making him second guess every decision he tried to make. The only combatant was anger, and now he had to force himself to remember that he was pissed at her. No matter how many sexy librarian fantasies were racing through his head.

"Hey," she said, approaching the table with what he told himself was deliberate breathlessness. She handed their daughter over to him and took a seat, immediately digging through the diaper bag and producing a bag of Cheerios and a cup of juice that she passed across the table. The entire action was so normal, practically second nature, that he was nearly swept away in nostalgia. Realizing he was losing his own battle before he'd even started, Tom bit out his words without preamble.

"You went out with Jane?"

Cutting through any bullshit small talk was the only advantage he had left, and still, Lynette only peered at him owlishly with mild surprise. "She asked me to get a drink."

"Because you were spying on her."

Lynette shrugged. "Last time I checked, you were still my husband."

For a moment, he couldn't speak, wrestling between his righteous indignation and the way his heart broke a little at the small crack in her voice on the word "my." It was so rare for her to show weakness, and though he knew she hadn't intended to expose a chink in her armor, the revelation broke him anyway. His mantra, _she had no right_, suddenly lost its impact, and he sighed wearily.

"Look, she and I…"

"Gaby saw you together."

"Having a drink. One drink. There were about six of us there from the office, and we just happened to go to the bar together…We were just talking."

The barista interrupted them, coming over and setting Lynette's coffee on the table. She thanked him with downcast eyes while Tom watched Paige pop Cheerios into her mouth without a care in the world. It was weird to think that tense situations such as this could be the only way she ever saw them; it still hurt to consider that being this way might be their new normal.

"So you're not…" She hesitated for a moment and took a sip of her drink to cover it. "…dating."

Tom felt his entire body sag under the weight of the statement. An hour ago, he would have confidently answered that they were, that he wanted to explore his options. He and Lynette had been stagnant for months now, and this seemed like a natural progression. He would have argued that this was what people did when they were separated. And maybe he still believed it, but any conviction he felt had been sucked from his argument.

"We've hung out a few times. That's it."

"'Hung out'?" She laughed bitterly. "That's what Preston always said when we asked him about his girlfriends. We're not teenagers, Tom."

"What do you want me to say? I don't know what you and I are doing. Nothing has changed, has it? Are we just supposed to go on in this limbo forever?"

Lynette frowned. He watched as she traced her fingers over the tile, running the tips along the grooves between tiles. It was such an unconscious movement—nervous almost—and he knew that she was struggling to hold herself together. Without thinking, he reached out and laid his hand over hers to still the movement.

"Lynette?"

"You're right," she said quietly, staring at their hands. With a sudden awareness, he pulled his away and scratched the back of his head. Sadly, she turned her eyes back toward him. "We need to figure out what we want."

"Okay." He smiled, relieved. This had gone better than he ever could have hoped. "Then we're on the same page."

"No. No. Because I don't want to see other people. And this may come as a surprise, but I sure as hell don't want you to see other people either."

"Lynette…"

She stood up abruptly, shaking the table and almost spilling their drinks. "We need…We need to talk about this. We need ground rules."

"What? Rules? I don't—"

She shook her head sharply, and he was suddenly overly aware that her mood had shifted; in fact, if he didn't know her better, he would have sworn that she was about to burst into tears. "I don't want to talk about this here," she said, her stoicism so forced that it only made him more certain she was about to break. "We should both come up with a list…We should talk about this later. Okay?"

"I…" He trailed off. He wanted to get this over with. The last thing he wanted was another ugly confrontation at some point down the road.

"Right," she said, taking his silence as confirmation—or maybe just refusing to give him the time to organize his thoughts and fight her. She reached out and snatched Paige from his lap. "So we'll talk later. I'll call you."

Dazed, he nodded, overtaken by her sudden whirlwind of authority. If pressed, he would have sworn it was only a façade.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part.

Either way, he didn't protest as she marched out of the coffee shop, leaving him with nothing but the bill and a strange sadness that tugging at his heart.

* * *

><p><em>Present<em>

That morning, he opened his eyes.

It was like waking from a particularly long, deep slumber. The sleep seemed unwilling to leave his eyes, the room blurring in and out of focus for several minutes as he tried to take in his surroundings. His head still ached terribly, but it was nothing compared to the sudden panic he felt as he finally became aware.

Aware of the tube down his throat, suddenly making his overly conscious of his breath, scared that he might be choking.

Aware of the fact that was in a hospital room, the beeping of unfriendly machines the only sound that broke the thick silence.

Aware of the fact that his whole body seemed out of his control, like movement might be an impossibility.

And, worst of all, aware of the fact that he was utterly alone. That even as a nurse rushed into the room, calmly ordering him to relax, his wife was nowhere to be seen.


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I make absolutely no claim to any of this.

**A/n: **It wasn't until Sunday that I realized we're only a week away from the premiere. I think that says something about my enthusiasm for the start of this season. But that's what fanfic is for, right?

I'd love to say that I'm going to finish this one before the premiere, but I really can't say that for sure. Real life has been a bit exhausting lately, so the writing is going more slowly than usual. So thank you for sticking with this.

Just as a head's up, I do not have a lofty wealth of medical knowledge, so if I completely screw something up, please take it with a grain of salt.

Thank you all so, so much for reviewing! I can't tell you how much it means, but know that it really does bring a smile to my face and remind me why I love writing fanfic so much. You guys are wonderful!

-Ryeloza

**Gravity**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Chapter Four**

Despite the nurse's calm but clear demand that he relax, Tom found it impossible to quell the panic he felt rising inside of him. Instinctively, he tried to speak, but was inhibited by tube in his throat. A thousand questions seemed to be stuck inside of him, beginning and ending with the same one: _where is my wife?_

"Sir!" The nurse lost her patient tone, suddenly reaching a decibel that commanded his attention. For the first time, he looked at her, and the pounding of his heart seemed to dissipate slightly. "Sir," she repeated, back to that soothing, even voice, "just relax. There's a feeding tube down your throat; we'll need to remove it before you can talk."

If that was supposed to be comforting, the nurse was sadly mistaken. As self-aware as he had been of the tube a moment ago, it now intensified, and it was only physical inability that kept him from ripping it out himself. His right arm, he realized belatedly, was in a cast, carefully strapped to his chest in a sling.

_What the hell happened to me?_

That question was not answered quickly. The nurse called in a doctor who promptly seemed do everything except remove the feeding tube, glancing at charts and whatever machines he was hooked up to and flashing a light in his eyes that made the throbbing of his head intensify. Tom shut his eyes, his mind swimming in confusion, and by the time the doctor acknowledged his discomfort, he'd almost blacked out again.

"—bet you want to get rid of this feeding tube," he heard him say, the grave reality masked by a chuckle. Tom forced himself to open his eyes, the only consent he could give, and then promptly found himself gagging and coughing as the doctor removed the tube. His first inclination was to try to talk, but his throat was parched and sore, and the first attempt left him wheezing uncontrollably.

"Relax," someone urged him, and Tom thought he might kill the next person who ordered him to do so. He'd never been more on edge in his life, and with good reason.

The same person tipped a glass of water to his mouth, more of it dribbling down his chin than past his lips, but immediately, his tongue and throat ached for more. It felt like he hadn't tasted water in decades, and the thought was enough for him to turn his head from the cup and choke out, "What…?"

To the doctor's benefit, he seemed able to translate the question with ease. "You were in a car accident, Mr. Scavo. A pretty bad one, at that. You're lucky to be alive."

Tom shut his eyes, the words running through his mind without any comprehension. A car accident… The last car accident he'd been in was right before his wedding, and the worst of it had been a mild case of whiplash. But this…

What the fuck had happened?

The doctor was speaking to the nurse now in a more detached tone, the rhythm so low and pulsating that Tom found it impossible to follow. There was some mention of tests, scans…

It was too much. He was too tired. Without any thought or effort, he slipped back into unconsciousness, back to the bliss of total unawareness.

* * *

><p><em>8 Days Earlier<em>

He'd gotten into the habit of working through his lunch hour, and because of this, no one thought to disturb him with requests to go grab a bite or join them for lunch in the break room. It made it the perfect time to make this call.

Or at least that's what he'd been telling himself all morning.

Idly, Tom turned over the card again and again in his fingers. The front bore the brisk, no-nonsense attitude of any business card: information typed out in bold, black font; no frills, just facts. To contradict this, the back was alive with large, loopy, cursive writing, the words, "For when it's time" scrawled out in friendly blue ink.

_For when it's time…_

Jane had handed him the card over a week ago, pressing it into his hand as she gave him a quick peck on the lips and then headed to her car. In that first moment, as he'd looked at under the inadequate lighting of the parking lot and realized what it was, it felt like the lowest moment of his life. As if he had hit rock bottom, and there would be no return, no absolution for his sins.

He'd walked around with the card in his wallet for a week, pretending to ignore it, and secretly thinking about it every minute of every day. Whatever he was doing, whoever he was with, the thought of it clawed at the back of his mind like an unstoppable monster.

_How do you know when it's time? _

That question had been haunting him as well. Like a small, vulnerable child, unsure of the answer to a problem, he'd been desperate to ask someone, knowing all the while that there was no answer. All the while knowing that there was only one person to ask, and she was the last one he wanted to talk to about this.

**David B. Harris, Divorce Attorney**

He read the words for the thousandth time, and still the knot in his stomach didn't go away. The fear and anger and terror and guilt and horror he felt from seeing that one name…

And when he flipped it over…

_For when it's time…_

There in black and white. Like an inevitability.

And maybe it was. Maybe that was the point they had reached, after twenty-one years and five kids and every little moment that had been _them_ up until now.

Maybe it was time to accept that truth.

* * *

><p><em>Present<em>

When he opened his eyes again, the room was alive with sunlight, warm and crisp as it could only be as the days grew shorter as winter approached. It hurt his eyes to see it, and with effort, he turned his head away from the window.

And suddenly he realized he wasn't alone.

"Hi," she said.


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Really, really not mine.

**A/n: **Reviews are always welcomed and very greatly appreciated. They will definitely perk me up tomorrow morning when I drag myself out of bed to go to work.

Enjoy!

**Gravity**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Chapter Five**

"Am I dreaming?"

It felt like a dream. Staring at her, the room seemed to blur around the edges, like nothing existed except for her. Like she was everything his subconscious longed for—the only thing worth dreaming of.

He'd give anything to touch her right now and prove that she was real. But she seemed miles away, physically and mentally, wide-eyed and speechless.

"I guess not," he rasped when she didn't respond. She was staring at him, her fist in front of her mouth as though she was physically biting back words. "Or I'd be talking normally, huh?"

"Oh, God." The words came out on a sob—what she had really been trying to hold back, he realized. She moved her hand to swipe at her left eye, tears rolling down her cheeks. Instinctively, he reached out his hand toward her, but she ignored him, pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping both arms around them.

"Honey," he said, a little stunned by this overreaction; hadn't he been in worse scrapes? "It's okay. The doctor says I'm okay."

"I'm sorry." She wiped her cheeks with her hand, but the calming breath she took seemed to be more of a shudder, a failed attempt to keep from bawling. "I'm not—I just came to see for myself that you're okay. I didn't mean to…I'm sorry."

"What for? Lynette? What's going on?"

She shook her head rapidly, crying harder than ever. Despite whatever pain medication they had him on, despite whatever vague numbness he'd been feeling since he'd first woken up, he was suddenly on edge; his heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. In all the times he'd been in the hospital, he'd never seen her react like this.

"I—I thought I could handle this. I promised the doctor I woul—wouldn't upset you."

"It's a little late for that." He meant for it to come off lighthearted, to bring some levity to a situation swiftly spinning out of control, but the attempt failed miserably. All she did was bury her head in her knees, hiding from him. "Lynette? Will you please—"

"It's Penny."

He blinked, stunned and uncomprehending. "Penny?"

Lynette lifted her head, some wild pain in her eyes that was even more incomprehensible than her words. She looked half-insane. "She's—God, Tom, it's really bad. She was hurt really bad."

"What are you talking about? Damn it! Lynette, what the hell is going on?"

"In the accident—The truck hit her side of the car. They had to cut her out of the vehicle…"

"You're not making any sense," he hissed, frustrated. His throat ached, so dry and sore that he could barely speak, and his headache had returned tenfold. Whatever initial pleasure he'd felt in seeing her had been washed away in a sea of anger and annoyance. "She wasn't even in the car."

"What?"

"She wasn't in the car."

"Don't—Tom, she was. She and Paige both were. Do you not remember this?"

Tom shut his eyes, very suddenly wishing that he could just go to sleep again. Or wake up from this nightmare. Whichever would bring him relief the fastest. "I don't…The whole thing is all hazy. But Penny wasn't there."

"Yes she was."

"Stop saying that! Don't you think I would remember—God, I would remember that!"

Silence stretched between them, long and unbroken, and Tom slowly opened his eyes, almost surprised that she was still there, that he hadn't imagined every moment of this conversation. She was staring at him, a frightened expression in her eyes; very gradually, she nodded. "Okay," she said quietly; it was the first word she'd spoken that hadn't been lost in her tears. "Okay. Okay, okay." She stood, walking toward him and pressing a brief kiss to his forehead. "I'm sorry," she breathed. "Okay. I'm sorry."

She turned abruptly, and he reached out and caught her wrist. "Wait. I don't—Please don't go."

"You need to sleep. And I—I just wanted to check on you, really. That's all."

"Please," he repeated, and he couldn't quite keep the note of desperation out of his voice. He was terrified that if she left, he'd never see her again. It made no sense. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I yelled."

For a minute, he thought she had begun to cry again. Her body shook silently, her head bent slightly to hide her eyes; then he realized she was laughing. Laughing, semi-hysterically, tears still fresh in her eyes, but laughing just the same. "Okay," he amended, trying to take this as a sign of encouragement. "_Tried_ to yell at you. _Meant_ to yell at you."

He tugged on her wrist until she sank down on the edge of the bed, her chuckles descending back to gravity within seconds. Gently, he raised his hand and brushed her damp cheek. "It's going to be okay."

"I wish I could believe that."

He tried and failed to swallow; there was no moisture in his mouth. "Penny was really in the car?"

She nodded; shut her eyes; sighed. "Yes."

Gently, he pulled her toward him. She seemed hesitant, unwilling for half a second, and then her whole body seemed to give in. She lay with her head on his chest, and he wrapped his one good arm tightly around her.

Together, they held on to one another, he trying to remember as she worked desperately to forget.


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Trust me.

**A/n: **Thank you all so much for reviewing! I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!

**Gravity**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Chapter Six**

Time was a lost concept.

Sleep came often, surrounding him like the embrace of an old friend; it was impossible to resist, more comforting and homey than the reality of being awake. Awake was four cold white walls and scratchy sheets and every inch of his body hurting and loneliness. Awake was trying to think of anything but the fact that his daughter was one floor up in the ICU, and failing miserably. The times he was conscious stretched out endlessly until inevitably he would find himself searching for that lost memory; it remained stubbornly out of reach.

Sometimes sunshine poured through the windows. Sometimes the room was cloaked in the deepest shadows of night. It was unpredictable and disconcerting. The days slipped by unmarked.

Lynette stopped by infrequently. Sometimes the nurse would mention offhandedly that his wife had been in while he slept. Occasionally, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, he swore he heard her chatting in a low tone with the doctor—not making out anything she was actually saying, but finding a strange peace from knowing she was within earshot. The only other time she had been there while he was conscious had been to show Jane into the room, and he had used the occasion to feign sleep.

Closing his eyes had been instinct. He'd heard Jane's voice down the hall; it wasn't shy as Lynette's had been, though it did have the same worried tone, made strangely superficial by the fact that he couldn't read every nuance in it. Jane had been babbling a mile a minute, one question after another, barely pausing to hear a response. Then, right outside the door, Lynette had murmured, "He's been sleeping a lot. It's hard to say how long he'll be out. Don't wake him." And in three short sentences, she was more real to him than anyone else in the world.

She still cared.

She was pissed as hell at him.

She was more worried than she'd ever been in her life.

And it was all tinged with the same uncertainly and loneliness he had been feeling since he had first woken up. Their daughter was in the hospital. Every time he had asked, no one had managed to tell him anything more than, "She's stable," as they fluffed his pillow or checked his monitors. And the one person who would have told him the truth, the only person who shared the agony of this, wasn't there.

But she was leading his sort-of-girlfriend to his room, and it wasn't for any altruistic reason. No, he could hear it all in her voice: "I don't like you. I can't believe you're here. But I don't have the energy or willpower to fight with you right now."

It scared the shit out of him. How badly hurt was Penny that Lynette had no strength left?

Maybe it was the coward's way out, but in that moment, in that split second he had to decide, seeing Jane seemed to be the most impossible thing anyone could have asked of him. The unknown of it was too overwhelming. Would she cry? Would she ask him dozens of questions he had no way of answering? Would she expect some kind of emotional response from him? He had no energy—no inclination—to find out.

She sat with him for awhile. The whole time, he was on edge, waiting for her to figure out his ruse. Eventually, she stood, kissed his cheek with warm, dry lips, and he finally fell asleep to the sound of her heels clicking across the linoleum floor as she left.

* * *

><p>"This stuff looks disgusting."<p>

"It's turkey."

"No it's not. And they're trying to hide that by drowning it in gravy."

For the first time since Tom had initially woken up, the people in his room weren't bothering to keep quiet. It was so warming, such a vast contrast to the cold, tomb-like atmosphere of this place, that he found himself smiling before he even opened his eyes.

Porter, Parker and Preston were standing a few feet away inspecting what appeared to be his dinner for the night. The hospital had a lovely habit of leaving it whether he was awake or asleep; half the time, he was stuck eating the cold remnants of whatever they were passing off as food for the day. Not that it was much better warm, as the boys had apparently discovered for themselves.

"Taste it."

"No."

"I dare you."

"You do it!"

"Hey," Tom said hoarsely, enough to rouse only Parker's attention as the twins continued to reenact a scene from their childhood. His youngest son elbowed his nearest brother, and Porter leaned around Parker to say, "Is the service this good every night, or is this just a special treat for Thanksgiving?"

"It's Thanksgiving?" Tom glanced at the food; in a fit of festivity, someone had plunked a sad looking paper turkey down on his tray. It was a final nail in the coffin of normalcy. "God—how long have I been in here?"

"Ten days," supplied Porter as he came over and sat down in the only bedside seat. Parker contented himself by plopping down on the foot of the bed; Preston continued to poke at his dinner as though he was still considering taking his brother's dare. "Mom said the doctor said you should be able to come home soon."

"Oh."

"Don't worry. We've temporarily moved back home so we can help out. You know Mom's practically been living at the hospital. Someone's had to keep an eye on Paige."

Tom scratched the back of his neck, momentarily perplexed by the idea of home. Whether the twins' offer of help included assisting him until he was back on his feet, he didn't know, but it was the first realization that his dismissal from the hospital might not be into the loving familiarity of his home.

Suddenly, getting out of here had lost some appeal.

"You're watching Paige?" he asked, ignoring the shakiness of his voice. If the kids noticed, they didn't show it.

"Just at night. You know, when Mom falls asleep here by accident. The neighbors have been taking her during the day. And Aunt Lucy's been around."

"She's okay?"

The boys exchanged a look he couldn't read. "Yeah," said Porter slowly. "She was a little banged up—"

"She's going to have an awesome scar on her knee."

"—but she's relatively unscathed." He paused, and then added, "Didn't Mom tell you this?"

"No one has told me much of anything."

The boys glanced at one another again, this time with obviously guilty expressions on their faces. In the back of his mind, he could hear Lynette's voice, sobbing that she wasn't supposed to upset him. He wondered if the boys had gotten the same lecture.

"You know, Parker's the only one who hasn't broken his arm now," said Preston; his _I'm changing the topic no matter how awkward_ inflection was horrifyingly similar to his grandmother's. "Well, and Paige…"

"Mom never did."

"Yeah. When she was a kid. She mentioned it once."

"Boys…" All three of his sons stopped, varying degrees of anxiousness and remorse etched on their faces as they turned to stare at him. "Tell me the truth: how is Penny doing?"

"Dad…"

"Now."

Parker bit his lip and dropped his head, looking all of ten again; the twins both shifted nervously. The façade of their cheerfulness was plain as day now; beneath the surface of their jovial, boisterous behavior lay the same dark worry he'd become too familiar with in the past few days.

It took effort not to back down from his demand; part of him wanted to keep his head buried in the sand and pretend…

"Preston," he prompted quietly. "How is she?"

"Dad…" And this time, his eldest child's voice broke on a sob that made Tom's blood run cold. He cleared his throat, gaze steady even as his words tumbled shakily from his lips. "She's…She hasn't woken up yet. The doctors don't know if she ever will."


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I would love to go back and claim the show as it was eight years ago, but I can't. I make absolutely no claim to what it is now.

**A/n: **Thank you all so much for the reviews! I'm so glad you're enjoying this story!

**Gravity**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Chapter Seven**

When Tom was six, he had a horrendous case of the flu, bad enough that he ended up in the hospital to be treated for dehydration; bad enough that he was off his feet for over a week. Strangely, though, what he remembered most was that when he finally felt well enough to get up, he'd had to crawl downstairs to find his mother, legs too weak to support him. The sensation lived in his mind—the first time he had known his body's frailty.

Now, padding down the hall in a scratchy pair of hospital slippers, he felt as though he'd passed through a veil back to that very moment. His legs trembled with every step he took as though they would give out beneath him at any moment. He could easily picture himself falling, collapsing in a helpless lump until one of the nurses found him, and it was sheer willpower that kept him going, one agonizing step after another.

As foolish as it sounded, he took the stairs. In a world that had been treating him with kid gloves, he didn't anticipate an easy acquiescence to his demand to see his daughter. The last thing he needed was to be caught sneaking into the ICU.

Thanksgiving dinner with his sons had been a bleak affair. Preston's reluctant confession had been met with silence. Unsurprisingly, it had been Porter who'd broken in with stilted reassurance, but it only made Tom more anxious; the more obstinate Porter's denial, the worse things usually were. They stayed another hour, talking of inconsequential things while their minds were miles away, and when they finally left, it was almost a relief.

Hours later, he had escaped, desperate to see his daughter with his own eyes. He knew that if he just saw her breathing—witnessed that simplest, most elegant sign of life—he'd be able to believe that she'd be okay. It was a pledge of faith; he wouldn't give up hope so long as God granted him this one reprieve.

The ICU was incongruous: there were more nurses and physicians hurrying around, but the lights were dimmed in some strange show of respect; around him, he could hear the incessant chirping of machines, but all of the people spoke in low voices; it was a place that seemed very alive, despite the shadow of death that lurked overhead. Immediately, he disliked it; there was a sense of foreboding that tightened around his heart, suffocating him from the inside-out.

The saving grace was that no one seemed to pay him any mind. Everyone here had more important things to worry about than the man staggering down the hallway, pretending that he knew where he was going.

"Sir?"

No. Apparently he would not be given even that small mercy.

Slowly, he turned, leaning heavily against the wall and trying to look stronger than he felt. In truth, he could have passed out. He could feel perspiration clinging to his forehead, his vision blurring, his head pounding.

"I'm looking for my daughter's room," he said with feigned confidence. "Penny Scavo."

A minute shadow passed over the nurse's face, but he'd barely registered it when she shook her head. "Visiting hours—"

"Please." It was the most honest plea of his life, a whisper falling from a man at his most desperate, a request so genuine that it needed no explanation. Yet her eyes didn't soften; her expression didn't change.

"Sir, we have a strict policy."

"That I know for a fact my wife has been ignoring. In fact, I bet she's in there right now."

The nurse frowned, and he wondered how irritating Lynette had been in her blatant refusal to follow the rules. He had a feeling his nemesis was weighing the pros and cons of continuing this conversation, of possibly involving Lynette in this, in taking the chance that he might be more demanding than his wife. And he was suddenly, strangely grateful for Lynette's impudence.

"It's right down the hall," she said tersely. "Room 417."

Tom nodded, but it wasn't until the woman wrapped his good arm around her shoulder and began to guide him down the hallway that he was legitimately grateful. "You're not even supposed to be out of bed, are you?"

"Does that make a difference?"

"Just in how fast I report your absence to someone downstairs."

He tried to smile, but it was more of a wince, one that did very little to charm his rescuer. "I just need to see with my own eyes that she's okay. Then you can send me back."

"Sir…" Her voice trembled just slightly on the word, and she straightened up in some brazen attempt to quell that moment of weakness. "Has anyone talked to you about your daughter's injuries?"

Tom glanced at her. She had her eyes fixed steadfastly ahead, but it only weakened his resolve. He realized with a sudden pang how young she looked, and he wondered how long it took a job like this to harden you, to make it easy to look someone in the eye as you delivered bad news.

"No," he said, choking on the word just slightly. "I know…My son said she hasn't woken up yet."

"That's correct." She shifted his arm, repositioning his weight. "But I think you need to be prepared…before you go in there. She's been through a lot—three surgeries already: one because her right lung collapsed; they also had to remove her spleen and one of her kidneys. Four of her ribs and her right wrist are cracked. Her right leg is broken. We're still waiting to see if there is nerve damage. And obviously there has been extensive head trauma."

Obviously. Obviously. She was listing things so detached, so clinically, that it was hard to think of them in terms of his daughter.

"I think your wife is in there."

Tom blinked. The nurse had stopped and was looking at him now with softer, expectant eyes. "Thank you," he said dazedly, pushing open the door and walking into the room.

And immediately, he knew: nothing anyone could have told him would have prepared him to enter that room.


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I really don't make any claim to this show. I swear.

**A/n: **I really intended this chapter to be part of the last one, but exhaustion struck before I could finish and I still wanted to post, so it ended up split into two parts. I hope it still flows.

In any case, this story has really taken on a life of its own. It's gone entirely off course from where I originally intended, but sometimes these things have a life of their own I think. In any case, I'm glad you are all enjoying it. Thank you so much for the feedback! Please keep reviewing!

-Ryeloza

**Gravity**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Chapter Eight**

Water rushing overhead blocking out all sound and understanding of the world as he was dragged beneath the surface, not struggling, just watching as the sun became a tiny pinprick of light, far, far away. He felt himself swaying unsteadily, then an arm surrounded his waist, another guiding him by the elbow, and he found himself seated as someone gently pushed his head down between his knees. "Breathe," someone ordered, but it was not as easy as breaking to the surface and gulping in that first breath of air.

"Is he okay? Tom? Are you okay?" A warm hand brushed the back of his neck and drifted down to run soothing circles around his back. "Is he okay?"

The words failed to register in any kind of comprehensible way. He raised his head slightly, seeking out Penny's prone form in an attempt to assuage his blind terror. To convince himself that he hadn't just seen his daughter cut and bruised and bandaged beyond recognition. To convince himself that this was all a nightmare. But at that moment, those same warm hands found his cheeks, holding him still, and suddenly all he could see was his wife's fearful blue eyes staring at him like he was broken into a thousand pieces.

"Lynette?"

She gave a visible sigh of relief, nodding, her thumbs running over his cheekbones in some reflexive reassurance. But her eyes danced over his face, examining him like she wasn't sure he was real, and impulsively, she leaned in and kissed him.

Her lips were soft and dry against his, still, and undemanding. Just this small whisper of a reminder that they were two people who had sought comfort in one another for nearly half their lives. A momentary support that they simply couldn't go without. When they separated, she laid her head against his shoulder, and he mirrored her, clutching at her back and trying so very hard not to completely fall apart.

It was impossible how unreal this had all been until now. Even though he had heard the fear in his sons' voices. Even though he had seen Lynette break apart in the most incomprehensible way. Even though he had seen his own wounds, looking at his face, a black and blue mess in the mirror. None of the pieces had added up for him—he hadn't been able to fit them together in any manner even resembling this.

And he still couldn't remember…What if his last words to her had been in that car, and he couldn't remember…

"Did they cut her hair?"

The words stumbled stupidly from his mouth. At first he wasn't even aware that he had said them, not until Lynette pulled back to look at him. It was only then that he realized that she was crouched in front of him, stooped uncomfortably on the tiled floor. She knelt back on her legs then, looking at him with all the determination she'd ever had not to fall apart, and still seeming smaller and more helpless to him that he'd ever seen her before. Without thinking, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, and as he dropped his hand, she grasped it, entwining their fingers.

"They had to," she said. "She was bleeding…She needed ten stitches."

Tom looked over at his daughter again. Even from across the room, he could see how discolored her face was, could note the stiches running across her brow, and he found himself wrought with some unfathomable horror that it might leave a scar. The room swam again for a moment, and he forced himself to focus on the rhythm of the ventilator, allowing the steady sound of it to keep him grounded.

"I didn't know…"

"The doctor told us not to upset you. Tom, I don't think you even realize what you've been through. I almost lost…" She trailed off, her breathing hitched on a quiet sob. "For awhile they weren't sure you were going to make it."

He turned his eyes toward her, not accusing or questioning, but hurt in some way that he'd never felt before. "You should have told me."

"I couldn't. I couldn't…"

And he knew. He understood. It wasn't a matter of the doctor telling her not to or a fear for his health or a part of the divide they'd created between one another.

She simply couldn't admit out loud that their daughter might be dying.

And he couldn't blame her for that.

He could never blame her for that.

"I'm sorry," he said, squeezing her hand. She matched his strength, holding on to him like the lifeline she needed so desperately. The one she'd always needed, always, even when she couldn't say so. He'd forgotten. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

And he hoped she knew. Hoped she understood. He had abandoned her when she needed him most of all, and he'd never felt worse in his life.

She couldn't survive this alone.

_They_ couldn't survive this alone.

But he also wasn't sure they'd survive it together.


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Nope. Not at all. Notes at end.

**Gravity**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Chapter Nine**

He hadn't realized he'd been crying until the young nurse returned with a doctor he'd never seen before. Their arrival had broken some mood cast over the room, and he'd sat back with the sudden realization that his face was damp with tears, his hands clammy and shaking. Lynette had stood up, wiping her own eyes and then crossing her arms over her chest protectively, while he got a once-over and a stern lecture about jeopardizing his recovery. Without protest, he'd climbed into the wheelchair they brought in and let them escort him back to his room, only bothered by the lingering glance he threw at his wife that she didn't return.

That had been four days ago.

The following morning, he'd gotten a longer speech from his doctor that included a long list of things he shouldn't be doing. "Like putting yourself under stress," he'd said pointedly. "I know you don't want to believe it, but you're still fragile right now."

"Not knowing was worse," Tom had lied. Not knowing had been bliss. The weight he felt on his shoulders now was crippling, and he'd known by the shrewd look the doctor gave him that his face showed every bit of strain.

"What's done is done. And the fact is that you do need to start moving around more. It's the only way you'll get your strength back. But it needs to be a supervised walk, and if you do go back up to see your daughter, it needs to be during visiting hours. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

It began a cycle of midafternoon walks. After lunch, someone would inevitably show up to escort him around the hospital, walking with him at a snail's pace up to the ICU. Lynette was never there; he suspected that this was a purposeful decision, but tried to shake it off as paranoia getting the better of him. After a half an hour, his escort—usually a volunteer he didn't think could be any older than the twins—would come in and take him back downstairs and that would be it for the day.

At night he lay awake and thought about sneaking back upstairs. Let his thoughts wander until they became dreams of being able to walk without effort; some triumphant moment where he could march into Penny's room and nothing would be wrong. She'd be smiling and shaking her head at him in that way that fourteen-year-old girls had when they suddenly didn't know whether to be amused or embarrassed by their parents. And it would all be okay.

Of course, when he woke up, nothing was okay. Not even close.

A knock on his door cheerfully interrupted his thoughts. It was futile to see the waking hours as anything but depressing now. A cycle of morbidity and fear that could not be broken except in that hour he spent with the volunteer each day, listening to her talk in her overly bright voice, like she'd been coached to always look on the bright side of things. He never knew whether to hate her or cherish her for that.

"Hello, Mr. Scavo!" She burst into his room with a big smile. She'd pinned her hair up today, but tendrils of her wild curls had escaped and were falling around her face in a haphazard way. It made her look more frazzled than usual. "How are you today?"

"Hi Rebecca." He sat up before she was wholly in the room, swinging around and attempting to slip his feet into his slippers. It was a contest—one-sided of course—to see if he could do it before Rebecca rushed in to help; he hadn't won yet, and he almost felt triumphant at his speed today until he looked back at her and saw her still hovering in the doorway.

"You have a visitor," she said. "He said he'd walk with you today if that's okay."

"Who…?" He trailed off as Carlos burst into the room, ignoring the distrustful look Rebecca sent his way as he did so. He felt a strange tug of affection over her protectiveness, but when he spoke, his words came almost brusquely. "Yeah, that's fine. Thanks."

Rebecca nodded and padded out of the room.

"Shouldn't you be at work?"

The words came out harsher than he intended, but Tom felt no hint of remorse. For whatever reason—loyalty to Lynette or proximity or just the plain bother of it—none of the neighbors had spoken to him since he'd moved out. The fact that Carlos was here now after a silence that had stretched as wide as the Grand Canyon meant very little.

"I took the afternoon off. I came by awhile ago, but you were still pretty out of it."

"Oh."

"But I ran into Parker the other day. He said you're getting out of here soon. That you're doing better."

"I guess." Tom shrugged, trying to ignore the sickening feeling in his stomach whenever he thought of leaving the hospital. The doctor had been by that morning to tell him that he thought he'd be going home by Friday. The trouble was he still had no idea where home was.

"But you look like hell, man."

Tom looked over at his friend for the first time, his stoniness softening just a bit. Carlos stood with his hands shoved in his pockets, face etched with the same uncertain expression he'd worn two years ago earlier, after Lynette had lost the baby. Guilt coupled with the inability to apologize. Suddenly, Tom was reminded of a whole other reason to hate him, if only he could find the energy.

"Help me up," he said unapologetically. "It sounds like you volunteered for babysitting duty today, so you get to walk me upstairs."

"Upstairs?"

"So I can have my allotted half hour vigil by my dying daughter's bedside. Any more time would be a strain on my health."

Carlos sucked in a breath as though he'd been sucker punched. It made something horrible inside of Tom seize up with glee; some sickening ability to inflict onto others the pain he'd been feeling inside for four days now. Like the world shouldn't exist in shades of color anymore, and it was his job to singlehandedly destroy anyone who thought it should.

"You don't know that," said Carlos quietly. "Lynette said there's still a chance—"

"Have you seen Penny?"

"No. They won't let anyone but family in. But Gaby and I have been by a few times…"

"Then don't act like you know what you're talking about."

"Tom, if Lynette has hope—"

"Lynette is putting on the same act for the world that she always does!" Tom exploded, standing up and lurching wildly. "That's what she does! She smiles and pretends that she's brave when the truth is that she's completely destroyed! You just don't see it!"

He was clutching the side of the bed, white knuckled with rage and indignation he couldn't explain. It nearly blinded him to the subtle shift in Carlos' face—how his eyes narrowed, his frown tightened—and he was almost surprised that when Carlos spoke, his own anger was just beneath the surface.

"I can't imagine the hell you're going through right now, Tom. I'm not even going to pretend I do. But I'm also not going to let you pretend that Lynette hasn't been walking around as some shadow of herself for months now. You can't just ride back in now because you need her and pretend that it's some fucking noble cause. It's not right."

If he had been stronger, Tom would have punched Carlos right then. He was trembling with fury so intense that it was impossible to remain upright; slowly, he sank to knees, wincing back as Carlos approached him and tried to help him up. Carlos had no right—absolutely no right—to comment on his marriage like he understood one fucking thing about Lynette. He didn't. He couldn't see it; no one had ever been able to see her as weak…

_Shadow of herself_.

The words rang in his head for a moment, echoing in a way that made Tom feel completely hollow inside. As with everything lately, he felt like his response was delayed, like somehow he hadn't heard the words until just now.

_Shadow of herself_.

He hadn't seen it. These past six months. She'd just been Lynette. Strong and bossy and confident and unbreakable…

But it wasn't true, was it? In the twenty-three years he'd known her, it had been her suit of armor—a mask she wore even at the moments she was most fragile.

_Shadow of herself_.

Carlos reached out again, and this time Tom let him hoist him back up onto the bed. His breathing felt rattling, like something was tearing apart his lungs. He suddenly felt like he might be sick.

"I'm sorry," said Carlos stiffly. "I was told—"

"Not to upset me. Yeah, I know. Problem is I'm already upset."

He put his head between his knees again, trying to steady his breathing and quell his lightheadedness. "Do you need me to get the doctor?"

"No." Tom let out a long breath and drew in another. Already, he could feel the pounding of his heart relaxing. "I have really fucked things up. And the worst part is I'm only just beginning to realize it."

"I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, you shouldn't have," Tom agreed. Cautiously, he sat back up, glancing at Carlos and then focusing his gaze on the wall. "I'm not being noble right now. I'm scared to death. And I'm not going to pretend I don't need her." He shut his eyes, letting the words sink in—the first time he had admitted them out loud. Ever. "And she needs me too, even if no one else in the world thinks so. Even," and he turned his glance back to his friend, unrelenting and steely-eyed, "if you think she deserves better now."

"I never said that."

"I don't think you had to."

Carlos was quiet for a moment. He'd visibly relaxed now, back to his old self, sure-footed and assured. When he spoke, it was with a calm confidence. "I think you two belong together. I've always thought that. Gaby and I both have. But I'm going to say something to you as your friend. And as Lynette's friend."

"What?"

"You spend so much time worrying about her. So much time protecting her. I've seen it. But I don't think you ever stop and think about protecting her from the one thing that hurts her the most."

"Yeah?" said Tom, almost laughing at this sudden assurance Carlos had that he knew Lynette so well. "What's that?"

"You. I don't think you see it. Tom, if you could have seen her these past few months…I don't think you understand how much she loves you."

It felt like clinging to a desperate hope—choosing to believe those words. Choosing to believe that she really loved him—needed him—that much every day, and not just now when everything was falling apart. He felt himself reaching out to it like something comforting to embrace; something powerful to believe in. But it wasn't quite enough to suppress that little voice of doubt…

_But she let me leave…She _wanted _me to leave…_

"Come on," said Carlos, jarring him forcefully back to reality. With reluctance, Tom left the thought behind. "Let's get you upstairs."

* * *

><p><strong>An: **Writing fic on Sunday nights has become my best way of coping with the fact that I'm not actually watching the show. Plus it's more fun!

Thank you all so much for the reviews! I'm glad you're all enjoying this because I'm having a great time writing it. I have been reading spoilers, and I get the impression that Carlos has become a complete and total wreck and is probably nothing resembling the kick ass friend I have him being here, but… Well, at this point this story has gone so far off of season eight that it's AU anyway, right? So I reserve the right to let Carlos be the voice of reason.

Please review. It makes me happy, and I could always use a little more happiness.

-Ryeloza

PS: I really would like to try to do a fic-a-day challenge again in December this year (I think my work schedule will lighten up then), so start thinking up requests! I have a couple that are already in the stockpile, but I could always use more. Season eight, obviously, is off limits since I'm not watching it, but anything else is fair game! Thank you all again! I couldn't ask for more wonderful readers!


	11. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **It's not mine. I promise.

**A/n: **Sorry it's been so long since I updated! I should be back to updating more regularly now that November is almost over.

I'm still planning to attempt December fic-a-day, so please let me know if you have a request. The first is coming up fast!

Thank you all for reading and reviewing! You guys are awesome!

-Ryeloza

**Gravity**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Chapter Ten**

As usual, Penny's room was stiff with silence when Tom sat down beside her bed. It was hard to remember that the world existed outside of this tomb—that just outside that door was a world alive with chaos; a world of people living and dying; a world of people not suspended in an abyss of nothing. Like Sleeping Beauty, caught unknowingly in a slumber that took with her the lives of a thousand other souls, all just waiting for her to open her eyes and resume existence. That was how he felt: trapped in the same darkness that held his daughter, unable to find his way back until she could.

He needed her to lead him back. And it wasn't fair. It was never a burden he'd wanted to place on her, not when his entire life had been about protecting her, loving her, making sure she was never lost. Now she had gone somewhere where he could do nothing to save her, and he found himself stumbling blindly after her, desperate and alone and waiting.

She would wake up. And then he could too. He wanted to believe that so badly—but it was a belief that seemed just out of his grasp.

"You know the story," he said. He spoke normally, defying the quiet this room seemed to expect. "You watched that movie a thousand times. Just open your eyes, baby. Please."

The words did nothing to pull Penny back to him. He hadn't expected they would, and yet it made the weary ache inside of him more intense. With effort, he fought against the hopelessness, trying to find his outrage or desperation—anything to make him feel more than catatonic—but it was useless. He leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, his other hand reaching behind him to tug at the blanket wedged uncomfortably behind his back.

The blanket was the only personal touch in the room. Flowers and pictures and cards were verboten in this place, but this poorly crocheted, old blanket defied the rules as blatantly as Lynette did. It was a strange sight to see here—usually this blanket remained rolled up in a ball in their hall closet, and as he pulled it up to his shoulders, he could smell the years of disuse on it marred only by the lightest scent of his wife. For a moment, he let himself imagine it draped around her shoulders, but he found he couldn't complete the image. Did she ever doze in this chair, or was her vigil constant? Did she pace around this room at night, unable to still her anxiety? What was her life in this room with their daughter, hour after unending hour?

"Tom?"

He opened his eyes (he hadn't even been aware he'd closed them), but couldn't find the sense to be embarrassed that Lynette had caught him sniffing this blanket in some bizarre form of reverence. Strangely, she was the one who looked ashamed, as though she'd stumbled into a moment she had no wish to be a part of. "Sorry," she said, wrapping her arms around herself in an unusually self-conscious manner. "I didn't think you'd be here."

"Late start today. Carlos stopped by."

She nodded, leaned up on the balls of her feet, and then settled back with an uneasy glance at him. He wondered if she expected him to go. He probably should. He could sense her discomfort, even if he couldn't explain it.

Instead, he laid the blanket out on his lap and ran one hand gently over the soft, worn yarn. "Where'd we get this?" he asked, and if anything, she seemed to get tenser. "We've had it forever."

"I made it. When I left work before the twins were born…I was bored, and Bree offered to show me how to crochet…"

"Oh." He looked down at the pattern of contrasting blues and greens and tried to picture Lynette being patient enough to complete the pattern. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit that he couldn't remember her doing this—even if it had been twenty-one years ago.

"It's not very good. Except for the border. Bree finished it because I went into labor so early."

"I like it," he said, and she shrugged. "Why'd you keep it in the closet all these years?"

"I don't know." She crossed the room in stilted way, plucking the blanket from his lap and folding it in haphazard halves until it was concise enough to fit comfortably at Penny's feet. "It's not good," she said again, but the way her hand briefly rested atop it told a different story. It spoke of a frenzied moment where she had gone to pull a blanket from the hall closet, and her eyes had fallen upon this one—this one blanket that maybe she had detested at the moment it was delivered into her arms because it represented some kind of failure to her perfect eyes, but now it seemed a reminder of a time when their lives had been infinite hope.

For whatever reason, she didn't want him to know this—didn't realize he could see it in the graceful touch of her fingertips and the softness of her eyes.

"We need to talk," she said, perching so close to the edge of Penny's bed that she was barely seated. "The doctor told me this morning that they want to take Penny off of the ventilator. They think her lungs should be able to handle it…They think she can breathe on her own."

"That's good." The words sounded hollow; Lynette didn't even acknowledge them.

"They want to know…If something goes wrong…They want to know if we want them to resuscitate. To put her back on the ventilator."

Tom had thought it would be impossible for anything to penetrate the numbness he'd been feeling for days now, but somehow these words—the breathless, detached way Lynette said them—hit him like a new wave of pain. Instinctively, he felt his insistence, that _yes, of course_, bubble to the surface, but somehow the words wouldn't come out. Lynette was still talking, any thought or feeling of his unable to break her imperviousness, and he had to force himself to focus.

"—don't think she'll ever be able to if she can't now."

"So…" He took a deep breath to steady his nerves; it didn't work. "So this is it, then."

Lynette shrugged, but it wasn't with indifference, just helplessness. She didn't know what to say—or maybe she just didn't want to be the one to say it.

"If she can't…I mean, she could live on the ventilator for years. The doctor said so. She'd be in long term care."

Tom shut his eyes and pictured the unending days and weeks and months and years that stretched out in that thought. There would be nothing. No faith or hope. Just watching Penny exist, soul trapped in a shell that would no longer provide anything to her but an endless nothing.

There would be no fairy tale ending.

Lynette was staring at him as he opened his eyes. He could read the hesitance on her face—in the strain of her gaze and the downturned corners of her mouth. They were staring into the face of the hardest decision they'd ever had to make, and he had no idea which path was the right one.

"Penny deserves better than this," said Lynette, shaking her head not in defiance to her words, but her tears, which came unbidden now. "But I'm not sure…I don't know if I can…"

"I don't know if I can either." She pressed her lips together and nodded once, but relief was far from her. Perhaps it was far from either of them. The weight of guilt pressed down on him like a stone, crushing the breath from his body. He tried to look down the road. If Penny couldn't take that first breath on her own, tomorrow or the next day or the day after that…How long would it be before they admitted what they knew now? How many months would they prolong her torture until they found the courage to do what they didn't think they could?

"She could breathe on her own," he said.

"But if she doesn't?"

Slowly, he stood, reaching out and tugging at Lynette until she reluctantly fell into his embrace. It felt good to hold her, to feel her chest rising and falling against his, to rest his cheek against her hair. "It's the right thing to do, isn't it?" she sobbed into his chest; he could barely make out the words—it felt more like he heard them inside of him. "The right thing for everyone."

He thought of their other children—of their lives continuing on outside of this room without them—again of how the entire world went on while they remained trapped here with Penny. And maybe the truth was that she would never be able to find her way back. Maybe she was already gone, and he and Lynette were desperately seeking her in a place where she no longer existed.

He was waiting for Penny to lead him home, but maybe the truth was that she was waiting for them to let her go.

"It's the right thing to do," he echoed quietly.


	12. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **If it was mine…Well, we all know things would be a lot different right now.

**A/n: **Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! I am being completely honest when I say that your support is really fueling the continuation of this fic. I hope you enjoy this latest installment!

**Gravity**

A story by **Ryeloza**

**Chapter Eleven**

It was snowing.

Tom couldn't remember the last time it had snowed, let alone in November—or was it December now? He'd always loved snow as a kid; liked making snowmen and having snowball fights with the neighbors and going sled riding. He'd get hyper, and even as an adult—with the cruel side snow didn't show to children—he still felt more excited than anything.

But this wasn't a pretty snow. The view out of the window was an unending gray: sky, parking lot, cars, buildings. The snow fell uneasily, like it knew it would only become slush and add to the blandness of this landscape.

He'd been planning to take Jane skiing this winter. She'd never been.

God, why was it suddenly impossible for him to think about her without feeling nauseous?

"Hey."

Tom didn't turn from the window. A second later, Lynette sat down on the arm of the chair, carefully folding her limbs so she didn't touch him. Defiantly, he laid his hand on her knee, running his thumb along the inseam of her jeans. "I talked to the boys," she said. "They're going to come by later."

He nodded. It felt like tempting fate to say goodbye, but they couldn't deny their children this. His mind had given the obligatory thought of bringing in a priest; he'd had a momentary pause thinking of his parents—of how they were the only reason any of the kids had even been baptized—and how in her right mind his mother would never forgive him for this. But taking that step felt like he was accepting a tragic end to this tale, and he was trying his best to pretend they were being optimistic.

Still, they were going to baptize Paige after this. He'd already decided. Maybe Gaby and Carlos could be her godparents.

That was almost ironic enough to make him smile.

"They took Paige out in the snow."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. They said she had fun. Of course, given that it's only about half an inch, I bet she came in covered in mud as much as snow."

"Lynette?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to come home."

The words startled him as much—maybe more—than her. She'd been still before he spoke, but now she seemed to be holding her breath, unable to show the slightest sign of life. But he was dumbstruck. He hadn't intended to say that. Hadn't even been entirely sure that he felt that way. He pressed his hand into her leg, trying to still a sudden tremor within his nerves, and forced himself not to look at her.

It was a ruse. Him acting as if this was something casual. Something he might say after any stay in the hospital. Something that meant nothing. As if this would lessen the fact that he was bearing his soul to her again; that by pretending he didn't care, her rejection wouldn't hurt.

He was so tired of pretending.

It felt like a dangerous thread to follow. All of the lies he'd been telling himself for days, weeks, months now. That Penny was going to be alright. That he wasn't afraid. That he didn't miss his family, his home, his life. That walking out had been the right choice. That Lynette was better off without him. That he was better off without her. That he hadn't ached for her every minute since he'd left up until right this second.

Fuck, there were reasons for telling these lies. Good, good reasons.

But he couldn't remember any of them.

With a passion he hadn't shown anything or anybody in months now, he suddenly turned to face her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her down onto his lap. Lynette's breath hitched in surprise, her eyes wide and terrified and…God, was that hope hidden so far within their depths?

Had she been pretending too?

"Lynette," he breathed. He raised a hand to her face, tracing the delicate line of her cheekbone with his thumb. Her head shook a fraction of an inch, a plea that he not do this, but he was too far gone. He pulled her toward him, capturing her mouth and kissing her as he hadn't in months.

This was the only truth he'd ever known. The only truth he knew now. He wanted her, needed her, loved her, top to bottom, inside and out, flaws and all.

Lynette turned her head, one hand wrapping around the back of his neck and pulling him closer. As though it was an invitation, he swept his tongue over her bottom lip into her mouth, dancing over hers in a beautiful tango. She shifted on his lap, turning her body toward his, and God, this hospital gown probably showed everything and he couldn't even care.

He pulled back, kissing a line down her jaw to that spot right beneath her ear, relearning a trail he'd once known by heart. One of his hands settled over her breast; he could feel the tattered beating of her heart, quick and beautiful beneath his hand. And then, as exquisitely as this had begun, it ended. Lynette set her hands on his cheeks, separating them until she could look into his eyes, and in those few seconds during which they parted, he forced a promise on himself.

Don't give up. No matter what happens next. Don't give up.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly. He couldn't quite read her expression. Lust…Fear…Anguish…It was an impossibly ambivalent mixture.

"I'm done, Lynette. I'm done pretending that I don't care about you. I love you. God, I love you so much."

She nodded, but there was something in the set of her jaw, the way her eyes dropped, that made his heart sink. She stood, backing away from him and wrapping her arms around her torso. "I can't do this right now."

"I know…I know how this must seem," he said, because he did. He knew that it felt like some kind of desperate way to cling to their past. Some attempt to put their family back together now that outside forces threatened to ruin it forever. "But Lynette, I swear—"

"No," she said. "I can't do this right now. I can't. God, Tom, do you even know how angry I am with you?"

Tom blinked, confused. The anger that had plagued him for months seemed so far gone now—something from the distant past. The pettiness of the war they'd raged was clear to him now as it hadn't been before. None of it mattered; why didn't she see that?

"They gave me your wallet, after the accident. I found the card, Tom."

"The card? What…What are you talking about?"

"The divorce attorney? I…" She took a deep breath, an obvious an attempt to keep her voice at a respectable level for the hospital. "I haven't even had time to process how mad I am yet, Tom. About everything. Jane and…You were going to ask me for a divorce? You were going to ask me for a divorce. But I thought you were dying, and I couldn't even think about it. All I could think about was how much I loved you. God, I still love you so much, and you wanted a divorce. And now…Now what, Tom? Our daughter is dying and suddenly you want me back? No."

He'd gotten to his feet as some point, reaching out his arms to her in some attempt to make her see that it wasn't true. It was impossible. She was right. He'd done all of that, and here she stood before him, and for the first time, he saw what Carlos meant.

Not that she was a shadow of herself. Lynette was still a survivor.

But he had hurt her.

Possibly beyond repair.

She backed away from him, holding out an arm to keep him at bay. "No," she repeated vehemently. "I can't do this right now. Not here. Not with Penny lying upstairs in a coma. Do you understand me?"

"Yes." He nodded, pulling back physically, but letting all of his emotions reign close to the surface. He'd been denying her so much—denying himself so much—and he was done doing that. If he ever wanted her back, he had to be open with her. With himself. "Yes. I…I get it. But we're going to have to talk about this."

She gave a sharp jerk of her head, not an agreement, but an acknowledgement. "I'm going to go," she said. "I'll…I'll come back when the boys get here."

"Okay."

Lynette turned, stalking toward the door as he sagged weakly against his bed. His hands were shaking badly, his legs unable to support him, his heart about to beat out of his chest. But she was about to go. She was about to go, possibly thinking that this would be the end. And he couldn't let her leave that way.

Not again.

"Lynette?" he called, unsurprised when she simply paused, hand on the door. "I'm not giving up. Not ever again."

She left without looking back.


End file.
